


First Impressions

by Elvesliketrees



Series: Kink Meme Fills [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poverty, Prostitution, Rape, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt in Round 1: In desperation to survive The Court or in an effort to gather the funds to leave and join the Musketeers, Porthos would occasionally join the whores out on their street corners and offer himself to the highest bidder. </p>
<p>Maybe the others discover this whilst they're learning more about his past trying to prove his innocence, maybe he let it slip whilst he was drunk one night, maybe Treville stumbled across him limping out of an alley after a particularly rough job and decided to lend a helping hand, I'd just really like to see something with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Fill #6! Warnings for rape and the implied notion of sex for favors! This could be seen as either gen or pre-slash for the boys, whatever you decide. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

         The alley; dark, out of the way, and not ever spoken of. The alley was where desperate boys went, desperate boys desperate for coin. Porthos was desperate for coin. He was eighteen, a resident of the Court of Miracles for all his hard-won existence. There were no good jobs for boys like him, and he knew it, it was between stealing from the rich or the alley. Porthos had enough of picking pockets using small and trembling hands, and so to the alley he went. He would shuffle into the alley as the evening skies turned pink, and he would limp back to the hut where he, Charon, and Flea slept huddled together, barely able to feed themselves. But Porthos was proud, proud of the way Flea’s eyes lit up when he put a still-hot loaf of bread in her hands, courtesy of the man who had flung his coin at him when he had finished. No, it was not a good existence, but it was an existence nonetheless. For a year, this was the existence that Porthos carved for himself, until the day he met them.

          With a grin, Aramis d’Herblay followed their mark silently. The thief had the apparent gall to steal from a noble. The theft was minor, but the enraged noble had declared it a matter of pride. Therefore, he and Athos, two apprentices not within their first year, and a brace of Red Guards were dispatched to deal with the miscreant. Every day they had lost him in the crowds of the Court, but not today. The thief came out of a tavern, and Aramis motioned his three comrades forward. The man was obviously drunk and stumbling. He slipped into the Court, but Aramis and the others kept him in their sights. When he entered into an alleyway, they all stopped. He approached a young man and flung some coins at the man’s feet before ripping off his belt. He heard Athos suck in a large amount of air, but one of the Red Guards, an older man that really wasn’t that bad a sort, grasped his arm.

          “I know, but we have to wait, don’t want ‘im gettin’ hurt,” the man whispered sadly.

          As the man flung his belt to the ground, Porthos was flung against the wall and a hand was wrapped around his neck. A hand fumbled at his trousers, and he braced himself with a grimace. The trousers were ripped off and flung into the distance, and Porthos tried to not think about it. He tried to imagine the coin, the food that it would get, as his world exploded in pain.

          Aramis heard Athos growl, as he watched the horrific scene before him.

          “No more,” he hissed, and Aramis started forward in agreement. He heard the Red Guards give forceful noises of assent and they started towards the duo. Aramis cocked his harquebus and shot the wall behind the man. “Step away from him and put your hands up,” Athos growled forcefully. The man looked at them drunkenly before stepping back and whirling his victim around before slamming him into a wall. The man gave a yelp of pain, and Aramis clenched his fists. The man tightened his grip on the young man’s throat, and the young man looked at him with anger in his eyes. With a growl, he swung his first around and delivered a crushing blow to the man’s temple. The man crumped to the ground, and his victim soon joined him in an unmoving heap. Aramis dashed forward, his three comrades behind him. The Red Guards attended to the filth while Aramis and Athos knelt in front of the victim. He was large, but much too thin for his size. Aramis checked him over lightly and determined there was nothing life-threatening. The Red Guards bound the man’s hands and hefted him up. He was moaning and blinking his eyes open, and the guards spun him towards the entrance to the alley.

          “We’ll take ‘im to the Chatelet, see to the lad,” the older guard growled. With a nod, Aramis shook the man’s shoulder gently, but got no response.

          “You take his left, I’ll take his right,” Athos stated with a concerned look, and Aramis blessed his friend.

          “When we get to the apartments, I’ll look after him, you’ll have to go report to Treville,” Aramis sighed. This was certainly a new development. He cursed himself for not intervening earlier, but the man was drunk and armed, and he didn’t need for the young man to be held captive on top of the situation. They flung his arms around their shoulders, and he gave a small whimper as his bruises were probably jostled. Aramis and Athos carried him as quickly as they could to the apartment they shared, and Aramis ordered a bath from the landlady. With a sigh, they deposited the man on the bed and fetched the tub. When the landlady hauled them up some water, Aramis filled the tub. He and Athos somehow navigated the man into the water, and Athos propped him up from behind while Aramis gently washed his bruised skin. The man moaned a little, but he did not stir awake. Athos paled when he saw the extent of the damage done by their man, and he guessed many others. “He’ll be alright, nothing a good amount of rest shouldn’t cure. He’ll need to stay in bed for about a week,” Aramis sighed, “He’s too thin, and he’s covered in bruises!”

          “I’ll report to Treville in the morning,” Athos whispered.

          “I may have a spare nightshirt that’s big enough for him,” Aramis supplied, and together they navigated the man out of the tub.

          Porthos’ thoughts were a blur as his bruises were pulled. He gave a moan, and he thought that he heard voices, though it was hard to tell through the pain-filled haze. He was surrounded by something warm and comforting, and then there was something soft being rubbed along his skin. He was exposed to the cold again, and then his arms were lifted up. Something soft and warm was pulled over him and then he was lifted onto something that felt like the clouds of heaven. With a sleepy sigh, he succumbed to sleep and burrowed into the warmth.

          Aramis watched as the man gave a heaving sigh and then burrowed into the warmth of one of the two beds that were wedged in the apartment. With a smile, Aramis tucked the blankets around him and checked his temperature. “A little warm,” he mused, “But that very well may be the shock.”

          “You can bunk with me while he’s here,” Athos said with a small smile. Aramis smirked at his friend and they both climbed into Athos’ bed. After too many nights that Aramis had dragged Athos’ drunk self back to his apartments, he’d stated that if he was going to spend so many nights staying over, he might as well live there. And so, their somewhat-strange living arrangement had been born. While the rooms were a little small, they made do. Their beds were wedged against the walls, and there was a table wedged up against another wall. All in all, it made a cozy home. They settled under the blankets, and silence reined until Aramis broke it.

          “What are we going to do with him?” Aramis whispered.

          “You make him sound like he’s some lost puppy we’ve found!” Athos scoffed.

          “You know what I mean!” Aramis shot back.

          “That is his decision. If he likes, we may find him a place in the garrison,” Athos mused, “But again, we shall see what he decides.”

          “I just don’t understand how one man could do such a thing to another,” Aramis said quietly.

          “The world is a cruel place,” Athos whispered, a faraway look in his eyes. With that said, the two burrowed into one another and slowly drifted off to sleep.

          When Porthos woke up, it was to a roaring pain in places he didn’t want to mention. With a groan, he thrashed under what seemed like blankets. Blinking his eyes open in shock, he saw that he was in a strange room. Sitting up with a small hiss, he looked about and saw that he wasn’t alone. Two figures were huddled under a bed that was against the opposite wall. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was in a nightshirt, and that he was covered with about three blankets. Porthos flung the covers away from himself, ignoring the pain that shot up his spine. He saw his clothes in a heap on the floor, and he pulled on his trousers. The act was painful, and he cursed. One of the figures on the bed stirred, and he stilled. The figure sat up and blinked at him blearily before fairly flying out of bed.

          “Stay back!” Porthos growled. Where the hell was he?

          “It’s alright, you’re safe!” the man said.

          “Who’re you?” Porthos demanded.

          “One of the Musketeers from last night. Can you at least get back into bed?” he asked quietly.

          “Name?” Porthos demanded, though he set the trousers down. These men were probably well-armed, there would be no escape now. They were Musketeers, the law. Even if their intentions were as dishonorable as anything, he would never be believed. Best to let them relax their guard and then try to bolt. The other figure in the bed stirred, and two bleary eyes blinked at them.

          “I am Aramis, and that over there is Athos. We brought you home after you were injured last night,” Aramis said carefully. Porthos slowly backed away from the trousers.

          “I’m Porthos,” he said quietly, one good turn deserved another after all, though he wondered why they’d taken him in. “Why’d you bring me here?”

          “You were injured, and we very well couldn’t leave you in the street!” Aramis protested. Yes they could’ve, plenty of people had done that very thing.

          “You know what I am, why?” he asked. People always had a price, his first lesson in the Court. The thing to be known now was the price of some care and the softest bed he’d seen in his life.

          “You were bleeding, and we feel somewhat responsible for not intervening earlier. The least we could have done is treated your injuries,” Aramis said quietly, obviously not understanding what Porthos was trying to ask. It seemed that his friend, Athos, was a little wiser in the ways of the world, and his eyes darkened as he beheld Porthos.

          “I can assure you that there is no price for our help,” Athos said grimly. Porthos nodded and allowed Aramis to help him back into bed. He was propped up on a few pillows, and Athos soon began to take things out a cupboard to start on breakfast, whilst Aramis checked his numerous bruises and cuts.

          “It doesn’t seem that there’s any bleeding inside of you, a week’s rest and you ought to be good as new,” Aramis said with a relived sigh.

          “I can be out of your hair in three days,” Porthos offered quietly.

          “Nonsense, you’re staying here until you’re recovered!” Aramis contradicted. Athos ended whatever argument that may have started when he passed a bowl of meaty broth to Porthos. He looked at it with huge eyes, almost as if expecting the thin gruel he usually had to make its appearance. He dug in, and soon enough the broth was finished, only for Athos to take the bowl and refill it. When he had finished with his second bowl, Athos spirited it away and Aramis looked at him fondly.

          “We’ll have some meat on your bones in no time,” Aramis said with an encouraging smile.

          “If there’s any way that I can repay you,” Porthos said quietly.

          “We’ll reject any offers immediately,” Aramis said with a small smile.

          “Even…” Porthos said cautiously, pointing at himself. He knew what came along with his profession, the belief that he would sell his body for anything, be it coins or favors. Well, if they named that, Porthos would be throwing his night’s earnings on the floor and returning to Charon and Flea. Aramis gave a choked noise, and Athos paled.

          “We would never!” Aramis said vehemently. Porthos berated himself, he knew that he’d offended the only two people who may have cared for him in this world. Athos walked slowly on the bed, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Porthos looked up, and saw that his eyes were filled with a solemn sadness.

          “We would never ask that of you, and we’ll do our best to make sure that you’ll never have to offer such a thing again,” Athos said quietly. Porthos nodded slowly, and the tension in the room settled somewhat.

          “Get some rest,” Aramis sighed, “We’ll talk of what comes next later.” Porthos slept, and soon his deep sleep turned restless, dirty hands reached out, tugged at his belt and sneered at him. A voice drifted in through the haze, and his eyes snapped open to behold Athos shaking his shoulder. He gave him a sympathetic smile and sighed.

          “If you ever need to talk…” he offered.

          “Thanks, I mean it,” Porthos grunted. Athos nodded, and went back to sharpening his sword. After seven days of rest, Athos stood between Aramis and Athos as they led him into the garrison, his past behind (though never forgotten), and the future ahead. The alley was still there, dark and cruel, but the future was bright, and together, he was sure that they could fight the darkness.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to do a much longer ending, with the criminal telling everyone about Porthos' past, resulting in a pretty good amount of bullying from both the Red Guard and even the Musketeers, but I decided on the happier (though the boys obviously have some issues to work through with eachother) ending. Thanks again for reading!


End file.
